


Possible (6/39?)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:36:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey and Ian talk</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (6/39?)

Part 6

When Mickey got back from the Alibi that night, late, after closing, Ian was lying on his back in the dark, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. As Mickey paused beside the bed, Ian turned his head toward him.

"Give me a cigarette," he said softly.

Mickey stared for a second, then pulled out the pack in his pocket, shook out a cigarette and handed it to Ian. At first Ian didn't move and Mickey wondered if he should put it directly in Ian's mouth. But after a moment one of Ian's arms came awkwardly out from under the covers and he reached, a bit shakily, for the cigarette.

Mickey waited till he got it into his mouth, then lit it for him. "You wanna drink too?" he offered, but that got no response so he shrugged and went to the kitchen to get a beer for himself anyway.

Back in the bedroom he pulled off his clothes, climbed into the bed and leaned against the headboard to drink the beer and smoke a cigarette of his own.

"You wanna talk?" he asked after a while.

It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought he saw Ian shrug a little. Better than nothing, he figured.

"You mind if I talk?" he ventured. Still nothing, so he thought about what he wanted to say. "Ian. Your sister told me about your mom."

He felt Ian's head turn towards him. "Fiona?"

"The little one. Debbie. They're ... real worried about you. They think you need help. More than I can give you."

Ian didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. Then he asked slowly, "What do _you_ think?"

The question surprised Mickey, and he opened his mouth to respond before he realized he didn't know what to say. After a moment he lifted the hand with the cigarette in it, helplessly. "I don't know, man. I've never seen anything like this before." He stopped and looked down at Ian seriously. "I want you to get better. Don't get me wrong -- I ain't complaining. I don't mind having you here. But I miss you, Gallagher. I wish we could --" He stopped, not knowing how to say it.

"Fuck?"

Mickey stared at Ian, and he would've sworn he saw the smallest quirk on his lips.

" _Yes_ , fuck! Among other things. You think I don't -- " For a wild second Mickey actually hoped. "Why? You wanna fuck?"

Ian's eyes had shut again. "I can't."

"I know." Mickey nodded. "Shit, man, I'd be happy if I could just ... " He couldn't quite bring himself to finish the sentence.

The silence grew, and Ian turned his head up to look at Mickey's face. "Just what?"

"Touch you." It sounded so girly. Mickey dropped his cigarette butt into the empty beer bottle and plunked it on the headboard noisily. "I don't mean in some kinda sappy romantic way. I mean, I just wish I could stretch out in bed without pissing you off if I accidentally hit you."

Now Ian was smiling for sure. "You won't piss me off, Mick."

Mickey looked down at him, almost exasperated. "Naw, right now I won't. But who knows about tomorrow? You'll be telling me to fuck off again."

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Mickey heard Fiona Gallagher's voice from a few weeks ago, warning him about impossible mood swings. But right now, beside him on the bed, Ian was looking up at him in the dark, with the smile still in his voice, saying, "Then maybe you should take advantage of it while it lasts."

Mickey lifted an eyebrow and cocked his head towards Ian. He plucked the butt out of Ian's hands, and slid down in the bed so they were lying side by side. For a moment they looked at each other without speaking, while Mickey considered what they could do that wouldn't require any effort from Ian. When he reached the obvious conclusion he started to slide further down, under the covers, until Ian caught him and tugged him upwards.

"No. Mickey. I don't ... you said ..."

"What?" For a second Mickey didn't get it. "You don't think I can get you off?"

"No, it's ... "

Light dawned. "You don't think I can get you _hard_?"

"You said you wanted to touch me."

Mickey stared. "You want to _cuddle_?"

"Forget it." Ian started to turn over, away from Mickey. "Bad idea. Just ... "

"No -- wait. I'm sorry." Mickey lifted an appeasing hand, too late. "Fuck, come back here." Ian didn't answer, and Mickey cursed himself repeatedly. Goddamn, he was stupid. "Ian?" He leaned up on one elbow and looked down at the motionless form beside him.

No answer. Of course. Mickey lowered himself back down so he was lying on his side behind Ian and thought about it for a long time before he stretched his hand toward Ian's shoulder, brushed against it, and slid his arm on top of Ian's arm. He moved his mouth up to Ian's ear and whispered. "Tell me ... if you want me to leave you alone."

He waited, happy for once to get no response.   Finally he dropped his head back to the pillow, let his body relax, and fell into an almost peaceful sleep.


End file.
